


Decay

by HexDecimal



Category: New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Angst, Angst and Tragedy, Hurt No Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Suicide, No Dialogue, Pre-Game Iruma Miu, Pre-Game Personalities (New Dangan Ronpa V3), Starvation, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-17
Updated: 2020-05-17
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:08:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24231088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HexDecimal/pseuds/HexDecimal
Summary: What drove Miu to join the killing games?It's 4AM and I wasn't feeling 10/10 mentally. It's a pretty dark storyline and I didn't bother to proof read.So... yeah.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 10





	Decay

**Author's Note:**

> Please don't read if mentions of the following may bother you:
> 
> Suicidal thoughts/tendencies  
> Skipping meals  
> Harassment  
> Child abuse (Psychological)  
> Death/Murder

When you’re expected to be perfect, it can go to your head. Not in a bad way, where you become warped with a desire to be above everyone else, but in another way. Where suddenly everything you do no longer suffices, and that lingering glare from those you thought loved you lingers just a bit longer than it should. In a sense, that was a bad way too.  
So what do you do when perfection is broken and you’re left as a former star in a fading spotlight among your peers? Miu had yet to figure that out. She knew, deep down, it was stupid. But the worst thing about perfection is in the very definition. Once you’ve lost it, it’s not regained. And you’re stuck returning home from school where you were once greeted with smiles and conversation, but now the only sound that reaches your ear is the accusing tone of those who loved. Emphasis on the past tense, no matter how much they insisted otherwise. ‘We don’t have to like you, but we will always love you.’ That was their favorite phrase, one Miu didn’t understand.  
When you’re not being liked at home, it makes you question the opinions of others too. As Miu would trudge down the halls she could hear the whispers. See the glances. Were they even directed at her, or was there somebody else over her shoulder. She hadn’t been bullied since she was 10, what was the change now that they were older? No, she was being ridiculous.  
Every day was the same motion. Sit down at the desk. Fight your body’s desperate plea for sleep. Scribble notes in a sloppy handwriting and do your best to at least arrange it. Arranging and sorting things was comforting. Everything was just how she liked. When things went too fast, there was no time to do so. Her notes had long gone from neatly organized boxes per topic to just a vomit of words in sloppy paragraphs. Had the classes sped up or was she slowing down?  
Lunch was spent alone. It wasn’t as if she didn’t have friends. Of course she did. They were just busy, or were stuck eating at a different time. Miu would bring out her notes and stare at her own handwriting, wondering to herself why she did this every day. Maybe if she just slept she’d be able to write. But why the hell should she even bother at this point. Beside her would sit cheap junk food she ate at her parent’s vehement disapproval. What was so satisfying about purchasing something as dumb as junk food with their money? It was perhaps the most pathetic form of rebellion possible.  
Other times, she simply wouldn’t eat. Not her fault though. It was mother’s orders. If this wasn’t done by the weekend, don’t even think about leaving the table. Work till her wrists were sore and her ass was numb, and if she complained she’d get a glare and a reminder that this was her fault. Lunch simply served as a good time to cram missing work, assuming she didn’t distract herself with something as menial as food.  
A soft bite to the cap of her pen as her stomach growled. Avoiding dinner wasn’t allowed, but damn if Miu didn’t try. If they were so insistent on getting her to work, why not lessen up? Skip a meal, Miu. Stay up late. Go to bed when you need to and wake up in time for class. A yawn as her head dipped once. She did that without them knowing, anyways.  
Sometimes she’d catch herself glaring at one of her more religious classmates, pondering to herself quietly as rude hand gestures were made her way. Did the jesus freak have a nice home, at the price of her happiness? Did Miu have a rotten home? Was she just being ungrateful?  
Her eyes would wander across the crowd of faces, heart skipping at certain ones. Seemed her desperation knew no bounds, considering she’d get desperate over any guy or girl. Hell, give her the time of day and she was head over heels. Was it love, or a craving for affection. Some friends hugged each other and held hands. Some lovers did too. Miu stared at her own hand, holding gently onto a chewed up pen before looking back at her most recent heartthrob. Damn it.  
After school might as well not exist. Get home. Work. Bitch about life inwardly as she bit her lip and heard soft whispers from her parents who thought they were out of earshot. Were they even whispering about her anymore or was her head just filling in the gaps of suffocating silence? Anything was better than being cussed out though. Miu could conclude that much.  
Part of her wanted to rebel. If they were going to be angry at her, why not go all out? She’d begun to dress differently, hearing the words of disgust on her family’s tongue as she swiftly led the house. Too late, she couldn’t change now. Eyes on her in the hallway were unwanted, but that was the indirect punishment, right. A cat-call here or there as she’d whip her head around and cuss them out. Hypocritical. If she was so desperate for attention, why not take it in every form?  
Longing. Fuck, the longing. It was weighing down on her as she sat at lunch once more, stomach empty and eyes dull. Did she want somebody to date her? Fuck her? Did she just want anything from anybody in her family that wasn’t an insult to her character or her declining state? Even when she had somebody why did the feeling fade so swiftly? A fleeting emotion of love. One moment she’s holding hands with somebody she admired, and the next that same gesture of affection began to feel suffocating.  
Too much. When you go so long without it at home, anything in public suddenly becomes too much. A hug lasts too long. A smile seems disingenuous. Part of Miu wanted to lash out at anyone she tried to date. How dare they touch her? Look at her? Speak to her as if they actually gave a quarter of a damn about her? Her throat would go dry each time she felt a peck on her cheek, or a hand on her body.  
Lay numbly as they ask what you want. What you’re okay with. It doesn’t even have to be sexual. A soft voice asking to cuddle next to her and Miu can only blink and nod. And for a minute or two it’s bliss. To be held and appreciated for once by somebody. And then it fades as her mind races. What were they really thinking? Why did they stay around her. A soft content sigh against her neck as they lay in bed should be all she needed to reassure her but part of her wondered if this was like before. They don’t have to like her to love her. Why did those words suddenly seem so much more shallow than before?  
Pills. She’d pick them up and turn them over in her hand before lifting them to her mouth. They would touch her lips before she’d pull away and stash them back in the bathroom as if they were an illegal substance and not something that had specifically been prescribed to her. The thought of taking just one too many, and knowing it could end everything, it was tempting.  
Instead Miu would take the prescribed amount and slip into bed, pulling out a phone or computer or some other system she wasn’t supposed to have at the time. Because she was in trouble, or because it was well past two in the morning at that point. When feelings are jumbled into an incomprehensible mess the last thing somebody should do is watch something to make it worse. But just to feel something other than longing or sorrow or any of the other bullshit feelings she was dealing with, Miu didn’t mind it. Even if the new feeling was disgust and fear. It started with horror movies. It didn’t take long to be numbed by everything there. Picking apart the plot and the antagonist, and knowing the practical effect, it rendered it all to nothingness. Seeing a man be skinned slowly went from a wince and a look away from the screen to a blank, unmoving stare.  
Did it hurt? She wondered that, at times. Would death hurt? How would she die? Should she choose or just let it happen. Sharp edges from god knows what would slide at the edge of her fingernails. Just clean the dirt out as the imagery continues on a laptop screen. But soon she’d press too hard, tearing the flesh and coaxing blood. A bite to the loose skin skin as she’d swear softly, finding it harder to type one the dull throbbing set in and the bleeding stopped. Chewing on her nails granted the same affect, lower and lower still till Miu wondered what would happen if she just chewed away half of her nail.  
At least with pain like that she could locate the source. Sooth it. Rest easy knowing it was going to fade, unlike the tightness in her chest everytime she tried to do or say anything. Everytime she longed for something. Was sex enjoyable? She’d read that it was supposed to be painful the first time. Did it hurt as much if you did it with somebody you cared about, or would going with a near stranger feel the exact same? Sometimes Miu would catch herself imagining a first date going into something more. Yet that something would most likely end in a loneliness she’d grown well accustomed too. She didn’t actually have friends, after all. Just bastards who tolerated her.  
When violent movies became dulled to their fullest she began to want more. When her fingers ached but the pain became too familiar she began to want that feeling again. When it was on the screen or her hand she could directly understand it.  
Seeing a real person die for the first time made her throw up. Murdered for some sick television show that had been growing in popularity. A clean slash to the throat leaving them sputtering and gagging on their own blood as the camera trained its view on their crying face. There weren’t any practical effects for some foreign horror film. It was real death before her, making her heart pound with a feeling of fear and anguish like never before.  
What would it be like to feel that first hand? To be the killer or hell, even the victim. Cowering as somebody approached with a weapon. Those feelings were blatant and clear. Fear and desperation. Despair.  
Miu continued to watch, realizing it wasn’t going numb. Each time she paled in the face and wondered why she stayed. Came back. Just one more. This time she won’t feel anything. Yet that wasn’t the case. Why did she honestly expect different results? It was madness.  
Who would she want to be, in a place like that? Desired. Yes, somebody to be desired and reckoned with. Smart, and never struggling with work. Beautiful. Able to speak her mind and know her feelings. To feel feelings properly again. And if she were to die, it wouldn’t even matter.  
Perhaps she’d found a purpose in the end.


End file.
